


Finding Information

by beeeinyourbonnet



Series: The Series in Which Emma and Gold are BFFLs [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeeinyourbonnet/pseuds/beeeinyourbonnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry almost finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Information

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FloridaAlicat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloridaAlicat/gifts).



> Rated T only because I dropped an F-bomb. Enjoy! :]

Emma had more deep, dark secrets than she could count, and it seemed that Regina was hell-bent on unearthing all of them. Each time she published a new piece of Emma’s past in a newspaper, there was a backlash of rage, but even Emma knew that these truths would get out eventually. It was futile to try and hide them forever, so she stopped trying.

But there was one truth that she would take to the grave—one truth that, if anyone discovered it, would be her downfall. It was her deepest, darkest secret. It was darker even than giving birth in a jail cell.

Emma could never, ever, in any lifetimes, let anyone know that she liked Mr. Gold’s company.

That wasn’t to say that she trusted him any more—she still believed, with all her heart, that he was rotten to the core—but she had found in herself friendly thoughts for the man. This wasn’t that unusual, she reasoned. There were lots of people in the world that she didn’t trust, but still liked. Probably.

It was hard not to like Mr. Gold, though, when he was just sitting around his shop, trying to fix something, or polishing a collectible, or fixing himself tea. At times like that, he looked like a harmless old man, perhaps one that had been in a barbershop quartet, and hadn’t yet given up the idea of sleeve garters and paisley.

She knew that it delighted him that she wasn’t afraid of him—his grin told her as much whenever she threatened him. There were still times when he scared her, but those times had started coming more and more from the nice things he did than from the scary. They were mostly the times when she could feel affection lurking in the back of her mind. The idea that she could value someone like Mr. Gold was not one that she welcomed.

They both knew that their tentative friendship could only exist when they were both off the clock. The had developed an unspoken system—if she was on official business, or even unofficial business, she would wear her badge. Then, he was Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker-loan shark-terrorist, and she was Sheriff Swan, the only woman in town willing to stand up to him. When she didn’t wear the badge, however, she was just Emma, a lost woman trying to be a mother, and he was Mr. Gold, a man who knew more about the world than someone who’d never left a small town should.

On some level, Emma had begun to regard him as a father figure. She had never had a real father figure, having been tossed around from home to home, and she sometimes caught herself imagining what life would have been like if she was Gold’s daughter. Once, when she had gotten particularly good news at the station, she was in her car and down the road to share it with him before she stopped herself, because he wasn’t her father, and he didn’t have to care about random good announcements in her life. She had learned, somehow, that Gold had a fondness for children, and so she knew that she wasn’t his child, because he would never have given her up. As far as parents went, though, she didn’t think she’d mind if Gold was hers—and she would sell her soul to keep anyone from finding this out.

She usually didn’t visit him during the day, unless it was business, but today was different. She had been up all night, trying to puzzle out a mysterious jewelry store robbery, and the caffeine mixed with lack of sleep was frazzling her. She felt like there were tiny bees buzzing around in her brain, attacking any train of thought she had with single-minded fury.

Mary Margaret was no help in this situation. She was a great friend, a great roommate, and a great support system, but she wasn’t a great detective, and Emma didn’t need to be distracted by cinnamon and hot chocolate—she needed answers.

She would never have gone to Mr. Gold if she wasn’t one hundred percent certain of his innocence, and this thought propelled her forward on her short walk to the pawn shop. Gold was at the counter when she pushed the door open, polishing an antique lamp. When the bell tinkled, he looked up, and she saw him searching for her badge, which was glinting on her belt.

“Sheriff Swan.” He set the rag down, brushing his hands together. “What can I do for you?”

“The shop empty?” She rested a hand on her badge.

He gestured to the shop, where only the two of them stood, and said nothing. Slowly, Emma unpinned her badge and stuck it into her jacket pocket.

“Ah,” he said. “I’ll put on the kettle.”

Mr. Gold was the only person in Storybrooke who served her tea instead of hot chocolate. When she didn’t bring spirits to tip into it, she experimented with the amounts of cream and sugar, and now had her teacup down to a science. Gold always took his with a squeeze of lemon—and a dash of whatever she brought, when she brought—and in his chipped cup. After their first few tea times, she had stopped asking why it was so special. She would never pry the answer out of him.

When they were all settled into his back room, he leaned back in his chair with his chipped cup, and studied her. “So, Miss Swan, I finally see you in the daylight.”

“I have a problem,” she said, bringing her cup to her lips to try and hide the fact that she was in a rush.

“I had assumed.” He took a sip, fingers brushing along the jagged edges as they always did.

She leaned forward in her chair, setting her teacup down so that she could gesture with her hands when she told the story. “Okay, so, there was this robbery—”

“Wait.” He held up a hand, and she was surprised enough at the interruption that she actually listened. “If this is crime-related, then I suggest you put your badge back on, Sheriff.”

“No, no, it’s not crime-related.” She waved her hands, and didn’t need the dry look he gave her to realize that this was a stupid thing to say after using the word ‘robbery.’ “I mean, it is, but it has nothing to do with you, I swear. I am absolutely certain that you had nothing to do with it.”

He considered this, sipping his tea as he did. After a few seconds, he settled back into his chair again. “All right. Tell me your story, and then I will decide whether or not my answer will come with a price.”

Emma leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips. “Fine, but no more favors.”

He nodded his head in acquiescence. “I shall be specific in my form of payment.”

“Good. Okay, so yesterday, a jewelry store got robbed. I’m sure you heard about it?” He nodded, and she continued, trying to make it as vague as possible, so as to keep her police confidentiality. “Well, it seemed pretty straightforward—they caught about a second of it on security cameras, before whoever it was smashed them, and from there, all we can tell is that they ransacked the place.”

“That does seem pretty straightforward,” he agreed, in his bland way of agreeing that both comforted and roused suspicion in Emma.

“So, we did a sweep—no fingerprints, no evidence, nothing left behind. The whole place was smashed up, no glass left clean, but when the guy did inventory, the only merchandise missing was the cheap costume jewelry he kept out front, which doesn’t make sense.”

“Magpies are attracted to shiny things, Miss Swan. I’ll give you that piece of information for free.” He looked amused, the way she looked when Henry brought to her attention a problem that wasn’t a problem at all. She scowled.

“I just don’t understand why anyone would destroy a jewelry store and not touch the diamonds. If it was just a random act of vandalism, why would they be so thorough about breaking everything?” She fiddled with the handle on her tea cup, chewing her lip.

Gold sighed. “All right, Miss Swan, here is my price.”

Emma drooped. She had been hoping that the allure of mystery would be enough that he would help her without demanding anything. She should have known better.

“What?”

“My stipulations to this deal are that it is carried out within the week, and that you tell no one. Are we in agreement?” He stretched his hand across the desk.

“That depends.” She set her cup down, and folded her arms. “What’s the deal?”

“At least shake on the secrecy,” he prompted, waving his hand around. That, she was sure she could do, so she reached forward and shook his hand once.

“Thank you.” He leaned back. “Now, there is something of which I am very fond, that I do not get to have very often, and which I must usually procure under cover of darkness. I would like you to procure it for me.”

Emma pressed her lips together. Of course he wanted her to do something sneaky, and probably illegal. “I’m listening.”

“Miss Swan, it is of the utmost importance that no one learns about this fondness, do you hear me?” He still looked calm, and this unnerved her.

“Geez, Gold, what is it? Crack?”

“One could say that.”

Emma’s eyes widened. Gold didn’t do drugs, did he? Maybe he trafficked them. That wouldn’t surprise her.

“Is that what you would say?” she asked, trying not to make judgments. If there was one thing she’d learned in their late night meetings, it was that Gold phrased simple things in the most uncomfortable terms, just to see how long he could watch people squirm. She had also learned that it didn’t take her long to start squirming.

“No.”

He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish when Emma glared at him, but then, he never did.

“I would call it snickerdoodles.”

Emma was sure she’d heard wrong, but this didn’t stop her from snorting into her tea. Had Gold kept up his bland look, she would have known he was joking, but he narrowed his eyes a fraction, so Emma made an effort to calm herself. Really, though, snickerdoodles? She would have been less surprised about the cocaine.

“You want me to bake you cookies?” She raised an eyebrow, clenching her teeth to keep any rogue chuckles from escaping.

At that, Gold’s nostrils flared, like he was scandalized by the mere suggestion. Was ‘snickerdoodle’ a euphemism that she didn’t understand?

“God, no. I don’t want you to bake me anything, Miss Swan.”

She frowned. “Okay, what do you want, then?”

“I want you to get Mary Margaret to bake them for me.”

Emma stared at him for a good ten seconds, then blinked, and stared for another ten. This might have gone on for an entire minute, had Gold not tapped his fingers on the desk to get her attention.

“Mary Margaret?” she repeated. Had she ever baked snickerdoodles before? Emma tried to think, but all she could remember was chocolate chip, and brownies.

“She made them for Miner’s Day last year, and on a couple occasions previous. I would very much like more. Preferably a dozen.”

He was looking at her like they were negotiating a real deal, with real, normal things being exchanged—like money, or children, or firearms. She endeavored to make her face look serious enough for the occasion.

“So, I’m supposed to coerce Mary Margaret into baking cookies, and then steal some?”

He shrugged. “I don’t care how you do it. Do we have a deal?”

She reached forward to shake, but was stopped by the tinkling of the bell on the door. Mr. Gold didn’t freeze in quite the same rabbit-in-headlights manner that she did, but he did pause, gaze straying over her shoulder.

“You didn’t close the shop?” Emma hissed, trying not to be heard out of the back room.

“What, just for you?” He pursed his lips. “It would look a bit strange, don’t you think?”

“Mr. Gold?”

Emma froze at the sound of the voice. She would have recognized it anywhere. She lowered her voice so much that Gold had to lean forward and squint to read her lips.

“Oh my god, it’s Henry.”

“So it is,” he agreed, and she was relieved that he had the decency to play along with her insanity, though she knew he didn’t much care who was on the other side of the door. That is, until he called, “I’ll be right with you.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Why did you say that? What are you doing? Aren’t we hiding back here?”

“No.” Though Gold was always patient, Emma knew that there was a special sort of patience he reserved just for her, when he deemed her slow and incompetent. It was this look that he gave her now, the look that she drew up in her mind in the times she thought about parents, the look that she knew she gave Henry when he was off about something confusing and ridiculous.

“Fine. What are we doing?”

“Put your badge on, Miss Swan. Are you really going to hide from your son?”

He had her there. It was also a pretty good plan, she had to admit. Gold had those more often than not. She hated him for it a little bit.

“Fine. What’s our st—what are you doing?”

Gold had already stood, retrieved his cane, and was starting to thump his way out to the front of the shop. Before she could scramble to follow, he was out, and sounding like he was actually delighted to see Henry.

“Oh, fuck,” Emma grumbled under her breath, chugging back the rest of her tea like there was something stronger in it, before making her own way out front.

Gold was involved in showing off a selection of antique trinkets to Henry when she arrived. At the sound of her footsteps, Henry looked up, concerned, but brightened when he saw that it was her.

“Emma! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, kid,” she said, walking around to ruffle his hair. She looked at Gold over his head, widening her eyes to attempt to have some sort of wordless conversation, because she was at a total loss for what was going on. He just smiled.

“Henry’s looking for a gift for Miss Blanchard.”

“Oh, that’s nice, Henry,” Emma said, feeling like the bees were coming back to her brain in full force. “I was just arresting Mr. Gold.”

Henry looked appeased by this information, but Gold’s face twisted into an annoyed grimace.

“I would say interrogating, were I you, Sheriff Swan.”

“Interrogating, arresting.” She waved a hand. “Either way, you’re a crook, and I’m onto you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed now, and this worried her. If her badge was on, she wasn’t Miss Swan anymore, and this meant that all bets were off—unless, by telling her to put the badge on, they had added new rules to the unspoken game? Being friends with Gold was so confusing.

“If you insist,” Gold said, before turning to a necklace chest filled with antique beads. “Now, Henry, have you seen these? They’re from Italy.”

Henry looked at the necklaces, dismissed them as too strange a gift from a ten year old boy, and allowed Gold to lead him over to some teacups. He couldn’t afford a set, so Gold next led him to a selection of handkerchiefs. He didn’t think Miss Blanchard would like something with which to blow her nose, and Gold next led him to a selection of old books. They went through these, and then brooches, pill boxes, jewelry boxes, and scarves, until Henry’s eyes lit upon a glass perfume vial, with hand-painted pink roses. All the while, Emma hovered behind them, casting frantic looks at Gold, which he returned with the utmost calm. This continued even as he rang up the purchase, wrapped it in tissue, and boxed it.

When they were finished, Emma prepared to say goodbye to Henry and make her way back to the back room for her information, but then he turned to her and smiled. “Wanna go to Granny’s?”

It wasn’t like she could say no to that. Feeling a little bit helpless, she nodded, and then turned to Mr. Gold.

“Hey. I’m not done with you. I still want that information.”

He nodded, the curt nod he reserved for Sheriff Swan. “You know my price, Sheriff.”

She ducked her head, and then, resting a hand on Henry’s shoulder, turned to leave.

“We’ll be in touch.”

“I look forward to it, Miss Swan.”

Emma allowed herself a small twitch of a smile, before pushing the door open and guiding Henry out.


End file.
